What does it feel like to have true freedom?
That is the question.
But does anybody know the answer?
Some people may claim to have freedom, though most times it’s false. You only achieve true freedom when your life on earth is over. At least that’s what Harry believed.
He had spent his entire life confined. The first eleven years in a cupboard, his soul slowly disintegrated with every minute that ticked by, praying for an escape, or light at the end of the tunnel of some sort to come rescue him. The abusive Dursley household was nothing short of a prison for Harry, he was a mere prisoner. Every night and morning he prayed to any God that would listen, begging to be set free.
Free. That was when he still believed in freedom on earth.
An “escape” came at age eleven, or so he thought. Hogwarts wasn’t exactly a prison, more of a confinement under Dumbledore's rule. Dumbledore, a man Harry trusted. A man who was supposed to be a strong, wise, and righteous wizard.
Incorrect.
Dumbledore was a man who made children do his dirty work. An eleven year old boy fought and killed someone, due to Dumbledore turning a blind eye to his pleading.
In fact, Harry would bet that even if the need and sorrow was flowing out of the pores and holes in his body, Dumbledore would continue to act as if nothing was happening.
Again, Harry was still in confinement.
That routine carried out for the rest of the years in Hogwarts. Harry begging the adults for help, them turning a blind eye to him.
Harry fought Voldemort for them, and they only really acknowledged it as it was happening.
An 18 year old boy.
He didn’t want the glory, or fame, or anything other than to be free really.
After the fight, he became an auror working for the ministry. Which, as you might be able to tell, still wasn’t a free job.
His life was a routine.
Over and over again he was contained, like a bird in a cage begging to be let out.
It was one normal day that he realized to be truly free you had to be rid of your earthly body.
And that was the end of his routine. His “closing act” as one might say, was shoving a gun into his mouth, and thinking over the life that wasn’t truly a life. A routine.
A routine that, little did he know, would haunt him in whatever life he lived. If he was reborn as a mailman, emperor, office worker, and so on. It would continue to be there in the depths of his life.
And every time Harry realized that, he decided to end it, unknowing of how it would follow him into each life, living off of the sorrow he got from the routine of confinement.
Freedom.
unachievable.